Liba Me
by Thermit
Summary: Take me to a true elsewhere," sang Wendy softly, her head bent to cover her bloodied face. A deathly cold and menacing figure stood before her, bearing a scythe. As the gleaming weapon swirled in the air and fell in one fair swoop, Wendy closed her eyes
1. The Plunge

Chapter one: The Plunge

Chapter one: The Plunge

Wendy was feeling a little ill. She had a queasy feeling for several months now, and, though she rested well enough and ate healthy foods, she could not ease it. It was a cold, tiny feeling in the pit of her stomach that Wendy first associated with a bad stomach, but then went on for so long with no other recognizable symptom that she dismissed it. But there were times when it would intensify, and it was in these times when Wendy sat still, face pale and eyes wide, that she felt that this funny feeling in her stomach was not the symptoms of a stomachache, but rather of a feeling of dread. But dread of what? What could she possibly anticipate that would strike such feeling in her?

John, Michael, Nibs, Tootles, Curly, Slightly, and all the rest of the boys were doing extremely well in school. Okay, maybe that was a little stretch of truth. John was doing very well in school. As for Michael and the others, well, they were little boys. What could you expect? But that was no cause for worry. Mr. Darling had been promoted to a managerial position in the bank, so that should be a reason for happiness. Aunt Millicent had been quite happy enough that her niece was attending a prestigious boarding school for London's young ladies. How much happier could the Darlings be?

Except, whispered a traitorous part of her heart, he is not here, and you are always unhappy because of it. Wendy quite firmly repressed that hidden voice and bullied it into the darkest corner of her mind.

Life had gone on quite well without Peter Pan. Better, in fact, than it had been before. A child had left with Peter Pan to go to Neverland, and came back a young girl in the first blush of womanhood. In going to the place where she would always escape adult responsibilities and pressures, she ironically learned the lesson and grew up, one way or another. It was ironic that, in the eyes of her childhood hero, she finally realized what it meant to grow up, and it was ironic that, in wanting to preserve her feelings for her childhood hero and love, she knew she had to grow up and leave him, if that was what it cost. Life had a funny way of turning out.

But even doing so never ceased the ache in her heart. Even knowing she was right never made it easier on Wendy. Growing up in and of itself was difficult. Growing past a love that had shaped her very soul was extremely challenging. Yet by and by Wendy had reassembled her life, the right way this time, and her family could not be happier for it.

So what is this feeling? Wendy asked herself. Why do I feel so anxious? Almost as if a dark cloud were gathering around me.

Wendy, despite her efforts, could not conceal her preoccupation from her large family. Mrs. Darling had noticed it first, and the sensible woman had consulted with her husband at the first opportune moment. Mr. Darling had observed his daughter, but could not seem to find anything wrong with her. Mrs. Darling detected her beloved daughter's mood, but little else. It was John, the oldest son, who had observed, by himself, his older sister's mood and had been quite direct in his approach with her. Mrs. Darling may have been the queen of subtlety, but John Darling was not known for pulling his punches.

On a rainy day, after most of the boys lay scattered around the parlor snoozing and Mr. Darling and Mrs. Darling had gone up to their room for a siesta, John had taken a seat next to his sister who was looking out at the gray London street from the parlor window. The serious, dark haired Darling began, "Wendy, I know you're not sick, and I know that you're doing just fine in boarding school. So why do you look so peaked?"

Wendy stared in surprise at her brother, a hand that had previously rested against the cool pane of the glass now coming to rest on the base of her neck. John continued, "Don't think we haven't noticed... You know mother and father have noticed but are keeping quiet about it. Aunt Millicent is dropping off hints about whether there's anything wrong. Michael feels that you're hiding. Slightly probably knows as well. It won't take long for the others to put two and two together, you know. " John folded his arms, fixing her with a stern, piercing gaze that made Wendy feel that she were the younger sibling.

The brunette coughed lightly, taking a sweep of the room's drowsy inhabitants before finally resting her cornflower eyes on John. "I don't," she murmured smoothly, but the words died away at the glint in John's eyes. Even Peter answered straight when John assumed that posture. "I just... feel uneasy," replied Wendy truthfully. "I haven't talked about it with anyone because I don't know why I feel uneasy. At first I thought I was sick, but truly I'm not. I've checked myself. I didn't want to talk about it either."

"Why not?" asked John. "Have you checked with the doctor?"

"No," Wendy shook her head. "I'm positive that I'm healthy."

"Why not talk about it then, to mother or Aunt Millicent?"

Wendy gave her brother a wry look, "Aunt Millicent... you know the answer to that. As for mother... I just don't know. I don't know why I'm uneasy, John, and being uneasy about something I don't know makes me even uneasier. I ... don't want to give it words. Somehow...if I do, then the problem will be real. And I don't know if I want to... if I can ever face the problem then."

John frowned, pensive at her sister's words. It would be so easy, were it anyone else, to dismiss their words and classify it as an odd feeling. A chill perhaps, or the reaction of an overactive imagination cultivated by too many novels. But this was Wendy. Wendy had an overactive imagination, and read more books than anyone else he knew except maybe himself. However, Wendy was not easily shaken. She was the bravest of the Darling children with an indomitable spirit that school nor their relatives' tutelage could dampen. And when Wendy looked at him, as she did now, with sinister shadows dancing in her eyes, he could not seem to find words that would alleviate the fear.

John paused, considering her words. "Is there... anything I can do? Anything at all to help, perhaps?" queried the younger brother. He looked at Wendy, eyes full of concern. "I haven't felt anything particularly troublesome lately, but..." Wendy averted her eyes, realizing that she was somehow making John feel uneasy too. As if, just by the power of her eyes alone, she made the shadows in the room seem darker and ominous.

"Nothing, John," smiled Wendy a little ruefully at her lap. Her hands were now clasped together and resting primly on her lap. "I'm fine, truly. It probably is just a stomach ache." The brunette wrinkled her nose, "Or maybe it's the corsets." Both of them laughed, but somehow John felt that the laughter was to convince themselves, wanting that to be the truth. John made no more mention of Wendy's mood, the only indication of Wendy's confession his increased vigilance in the security around the house. Touched by her brother's concern, Wendy nevertheless felt that the gesture was fruitless. Locked doors and windows would not alleviate her fears.

At least John looked like he was enjoying himself. The Darlings had been invited to a grand ball by one of Mr. Darling's superiors in the bank. Mrs. Darling, with the help of Aunt Millicent, had fought tooth and nail to get the boys presentable for the occasion, and they had done magnificently. The boys looked very smart and handsome in their neat suits. In addition, they were charming their hosts with their gentle antics. No doubt John had fiercely held them in check. The boys would have to leave in a while before they found something disastrous to do.

Mrs. Darling and Mr. Darling were mingling with the guests, their soft talk and laughter contributing to the air of the party. Aunt Millicent stood near Wendy, as a young lady ought not be without chaperone for an indefinite period of time. And what a young lady Wendy had turned out to be. A young girl just coming to womanhood with creamy satin skin, full rosebud lips, and dusky blue eyes with long, sooty lashes. Her mahogany brown hair was arranged in an elegant twist, curls coming down to sweetly frame her face. Wendy wore no adornments save the perpetual acorn that hung from a fine chain of silver down her breast. Her parents and especially Aunt Millicent hadn't understood why Wendy would want to keep on wearing such an unattractive bauble, but Wendy had firmly staved off suggestions to take it off. She had told all three, "It means more to me than a mine of diamonds" and she meant it with all her heart. To soothe Aunt Millicent's wounded pride, Wendy wore Aunt Millicent's dress of choice: a gown of pale gold that molded to Wendy's young, lithe body while still preserving her modesty. The beautifully embroidered material cascaded in a silken fall down her feet with a grace only a swan could possess. Wendy, tonight, was magnificent.

But Wendy did not feel it. The feeling inside had been growing since the sun fell, and she couldn't help act skittish. She felt as though she should be hiding, but from what or who exactly she could not determine. Pale and preoccupied, Wendy did not notice the admiring glances sent her way, but she did notice when Mr. and Mrs. Darling led over the bank's president to her as well as another young man.

"Wendy," smiled Mrs. Darling, "I would like you to meet Mr. Ludlow, your father's superior in the office."

Startled, Wendy dropped a graceful curtsy. Her eyes, twin shades of blue that could only be found in twilight, fastened themselves upon the man and said, "It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Ludlow."

Pleased, Mr. Ludlow bowed to her, "On the contrary, my dear, it is entirely my pleasure. Please, let me introduce you to my son, Jonathan." He presented Jonathan, a handsome youth of crystal blue eyes, fawn colored hair, and an easygoing disposition. He was tall, a complete head over her, and wore an elegant though stiff suit. Jonathan's lips curled in a smile and he kissed Wendy's hand.

"The pleasure's all mine, Ms. Darling," he grinned.

Wendy blushed faintly. She had to be unconscious not to notice Jonathan's physical appeal. His attentions would have been nice, Wendy reflected wistfully, if only she didn't feel so worried. So frightened...

"Would you grace me with this dance?" he asked.

"O-of course," nodded Wendy after she had received a nod from Mrs. Darling. Jonathan swept her into the dance floor. He had asked at a very opportune moment. The musicians were just starting up a waltz. Gallantly, Jonathan bowed down to her once more before taking her in his arms and beginning the waltz.

Jonathan smiled engagingly at her, "You look very beautiful tonight, Ms. Darling." His eyes danced in mischief, "Many men would love to be in my position right now."

"You're too kind," smiled Wendy at him. From behind his shoulder, Wendy spotted a face. It was hidden in shadow near the balconies, but it was a face she wasn't likely to forget. It was a ghastly, gray face. Scars scored through one cheek, five claw marks made by some beast. Lips were twisted into some cruel snarl of viciousness, but it was the eyes, the eyes that frightened her the most. They were black. Completely black. There was no distinction between iris, pupil, and all the rest. It was a vacuum of darkness that sucked in all light.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and opened them again. The face was gone. Wendy took a shuddering breath to calm her racing heart. She closed her eyes to focus on the waltz, the lilting notes sounding sweetly in her eyes.

"You like this waltz?"

"It's a very pretty waltz," nodded the chestnut brown haired girl, "It's different from all the other waltzes. Haunting... one might say."

Jonathan nodded solemnly, taking in her serious countenance, "Somehow, it fits you."

Wendy blinked in surprise, "Pardon?"

"It's mysterious," nodded Jonathan, concentrating on the music as he flawlessly led her on the dance floor, "it's haunting, but above all, it's very beautiful."

Wendy blushed once more. "I'm not..." she began, but was cut off as the music ended. Couples on the dance floor clapped the musicians for their work, and Wendy and Jonathan followed suit. At the corner of her eye, Wendy thought the shadows had lengthened. Was it supposed to be so dark inside the ballroom?

"Wendy, dear," called Mr. Darling. Jonathan escorted her back to her father. "I was just telling Mr. Ludlow your superb skills on the piano. Do grace us with one of your pieces," implored her father, smiling gently at his only daughter.

"Oh, but I'm not very good," protested the Wendy, looking faintly alarmed at having to perform in a ball. More importantly, she did not want to be in the center of attention where people could see her.

"I insist," smiled Mr. Ludlow. "One try won't hurt, and someone who dances as prettily as you is sure to have grace in music. It would be a pleasure." He nodded toward a vacant piano near the orchestra. The musicians had taken a short break. Jonathan eagerly beckoned for her, and Wendy had no choice but to comply.

The young lady arranged her skirts prettily as she sat in the piano, and she tested a few keys before looking satisfied. As she glanced to the left, she saw the face again. This time in a balcony nearer to her seat. For as long as she stared at the face, the longer it stared back at her. Wendy gasped quietly, and a couple danced past the face. It was gone. Face pale, she shook her head. She must be imagining things. She turned to her father and Mr. Ludlow, "Would you like to hear anything in particular?"

Jonathan shrugged and smiled, "Play for us anything that catches your fancy, Ms. Darling. You have excellent taste. Just play from the heart."

Wendy paused, fingers poised to strike the keys. Play from the heart. But, she thought a little sadly, in my heart is not what my parent wants. She wanted to please her parents. It was why she had endured finishing school, why she had agreed to all these balls and parties with all their stiff etiquette, and protocol. It was not that she disliked social functions. She enjoyed them, to a certain degree. It was just that... in her heart was Peter. Wendy's fingers descended and words flowed from inside her heart and out into the air, laden with feeling.

As Wendy's song winded to a close, she opened her eyes, noting the quiet of the room. A gasp tore out of her throat, this time not quiet but loud. She was alone. The room was completely empty. Wendy rose hastily from the piano, alarmed. Where did everyone go?

Cornflower blue eyes skipped from place to place, from table to table. The drinks were in place, and the food was still steaming. The violin the lead musician was tuning was still where he had last left it. The ballroom was exactly as it was except that there was no one in it but her.

"John?" called out to Wendy. Her voice echoed back to her, and she realized, for the first time since panic had set in, that the ballroom had grown unbearably dark. "Mother? Father? ... Mr. Ludlow?" she tried once more, fighting to keep the fear from her voice. A whisper carried back to her. Wendy swirled around. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Wendy..."

"Mother? Is that you?" asked Wendy. She took a few steps forward to the center of the room. "John... Boys, if this is a joke, the jig's up. It's not funny!"

"Weendy..."

Wendy swallowed hard. The whispery voice seemed to be coming from the balcony. In fact, as Wendy approached, the balcony seemed to be the only place that was bright. Moonlight spilled in from outside, and the touch of air was very cool. The blue eyed girl stepped forward, shivering. "Who's there?" she asked again, her voice strong and determined.

A man was standing outside the balcony. He had his back to her, his face seemingly uplifted to the heavens. A cloak shrouded him and it rustled in the faint breeze. Goosebumps rose on Wendy's bare skin and she crossed her arms around herself protectively.

"S-sir?" she called. The minute he turned his head, Wendy knew it was a mistake to call him. Wendy took steps back, fighting the rising horror inside her throat. The man slowly turned his face towards her, revealing the pallid skin, then the cruel, jagged scars, then the twisted lips, and finally the dark eyes. The dark eyes that glared at her greedily, promising much evil and torment.

_Come to me_, he seemed to say though his lips did not move. _Come to me. Let me show you what real torment is. Let me show you the pleasure of knives scouring your skin, the hot fire of poison coursing through your blood, the bliss of being raped. Come to me, and I'll do that and more. __**Come to me.**_

Wendy stumbled back, eyes widening. Her heart had grown cold, and she was shaking uncontrollably. "H-help..." she murmured hoarsely. "Please... help. Someone, help me... Help..." Her terror robbed her of what voice she had.

The man's eyes widened fractionally at her. His mouth opened and his tongue, Wendy was able to glimpse in the cold moonlight, was slit in the middle like a snake's. "There is... no escape," he told her. His voice grated the air and burned her mind.

A feeling of absolute coldness crashed into the young girl. A hand reached up and it brushed her acorn necklace. As if snapped out of her trance, Wendy drew a ragged breath. _Peter..._ She glared at the dark figure, though her heart still felt cold.

"I don't know... who you are. But you had better leave. You're not welcome here!" she half yelled. Her hand squeezed the acorn, almost frantically.

"You cannot hide," said the man, his slitted tongue flicking out once more. He took a step towards her.

"No... no!" yelled Wendy, retreating. "You're... not real! None of this is real!"

He began to laugh, a horribly cold laugh that sounded like the rattle of snakes.

"You're not real!" screamed the young girl, closing her eyes and shutting her ears from the sound. If only she could focus on something else, something to keep his gaze and voice from her mind. His gaze was pure terror and his voice robbed her of her will. Anything, anything at all to keep him away… She cast her mind and it landed on the song she had so recently sung, a song full of feeling and meaning and memories of the one person who could never fade with time.

She began to sing, a little hoarsely, "I want happiness... I seek happiness. To cause your happiness, to be your happiness. So take me, to a true elsewhere. Please take me there." The man's countenance did not change, but she felt him recoil. Encouraged, she sang once more, "Magic that lasts... Never ending kiss. Reverie without break. Imperishable bliss. Take me. I want happiness."

"Stop..." said the man, and his words fell like a guillotine.

Wendy visibly flinched. Desperately, she squeezed her acorn hard in her hand and continued doggedly, "Bird sing. Song of unknown tongue. Though winged they still fail to reach the sky. A place not meant to be treaded alone. So take me. To a true elsewhere. Wet feathers, locked fingers, melting flesh, fusing minds... Take me. I want happiness. Not your past, but your present is what I seek. Carefully winding back its fragile thread...please take me there."

"I said stop," said the man and he approached her. As he approached, Wendy noticed that he did not move his feet at all. Wendy realized that his toes were grazing the floor as he float towards her, sparks of red starting to appear in his eyes.

"I want happiness. I seek happiness. To cause your happiness. To be your happiness. Take me to a true elsewhere. Deliver me," sang Wendy, louder this time. He was approaching... "A bird in a gilded cage, a bird bereft of flight. A bird that cannot fly. A bird all by itself. So take me. I want happiness." Two meters. "Happy just to be with you. Happy just to see your smile. So take me to a true elsewhere. Please take me to happiness. " One meter. "My first thought and my last wish... A promised land where fairies wait with room just enough for two. So deliver me, help me. To forget the tribulations of day and to stay in this dream of night where I can be thinking of you forever. Take me..." Right before her with hellfire burning in his eyes. "Take me to my bliss!"

Light surrounded Wendy. The figure drew back in quick pace. Wendy herself felt a scream tear out of her throat. All at once, she felt as though an earthquake, and a hurricane had hit London simultaneously, and she felt the world shatter around her like glass. The fabric of reality ripped in front of her very eyes, and Wendy screamed once more. The ground gave way beneath her and she fell to a torrent of light. Wendy fainted.


	2. Elsewhere

Disclaimer: Peter Pan and all characters do not belong to me. They belong to JM Barrie (and whomever else he says it is). The song Think of me is from Phantom of the Opera and belongs to whomever they say it belongs to.  
  
Dedications: The entire chapter is dedicated to my one and only Douggie. He's a sweetie that helps me up when I'm down and makes me even feel happier when I am cheerful. He's my inspiration at work, confidante, and dear friend. With all my love, Doug.  
  
Chapter Two: Elsewhere  
  
Wendy, curled in a fetal position, was suspended in a twilight canvas painted with cherry blossom lavender, wisteria purple, night blue, and ocean green. Stars twinkling like ruby, diamonds, and sapphires were sprinkled abundantly in the vast kaleidoscope of rich colors. A shimmering gauze of fine white hung in the air, very much like rain when the sun struck it just right.  
  
The sixteen year old's lids flickered slightly before opening, as slowly as a flower would spread its petals, to reveal fathomless eyes of stormy blue. Fatigue chained her limbs, and she couldn't seem to move. Exhaustion sunk so deep inside her that she felt its weight drag her own mind. All her energy seemed spent, as though she had run miles without pause.  
  
But for all her weariness, Wendy was sharply aware of her surroundings. Her gaze drank the scene of otherworldly beauty, her chest heaving in wonder. The colors unfolded before her and stretched on to the endless horizon, and the English girl thought that she might be on the doorstep to Heaven. A soft yet strange sensation was permeating her being. It was a feeling of weightlessness, almost exactly as though she were underwater. Her hair, once tied up, floated in the air free and unrestrained, a wave of glossy, shining, chestnut brown. Stray strands tickled the flesh of her back.  
  
Her back? With a start, she realized that she wore nothing. Her hair was her only cloak. With what little strength she had, she pulled her knees closer to herself, and secured her arms more securely around her.  
  
What was she doing here? Where was she? Where had she been?  
  
As these alarming thought began to surface, languor reached its hand to draw her in its realm. Wendy was powerless to resist, but as her eyes began to close once more, she felt the pressure of the acorn, Peter's magic kiss that never faded, beating against her breast, almost like a heart. Then, as many times before, the boy of dirty golden hair and copper tanned skin was the subject of her thoughts, first upon waking and, like now, last before sleeping. "Peter..." she breathed, and her heart was in her sigh.  
  
The sound fell like a deep bass upon the realm she floated upon, sending invisible tremors everywhere. Heat gathered around her before coalescing to a burning hot point somewhere in the middle of her back. Wendy felt something explode, as though something large was at last released, but she was already fading fast asleep.  
  
Wendy dreamed once more, but her dreams were not of pleasant limbos or even of Neverland and Peter, or her family back in London. She dreamt strange things: flashes of images and snatches of conversation spoken in strange tongue. It was as if she was riding a horse in breakneck speed on a busy street in London catching flashes of scenes in other people's everyday lives. But she knew that it was no horse ride nor was it anywhere remotely near London. For the images she saw were of a massive desert continent, of strange dwellings built amongst the very sand itself, of a lone river snaking its way across the heart of the desert before slowly choking and dying off, of swarthy people clad in strange robes marching in silent procession to a massive obelisk in the far distance. Foreign tongues spoke: shouting, clicking, laughing, singing, and praying. She dreamt these things. But the dream that stayed with her most was of a man standing upon a sumptuous balcony staring at a blood moon rising in a pitch- black night. For the moment his profile was upturned towards the blood moon, his image burned forever in her mind: Impressively tall with a muscular build barely concealed by long robes of rich burgundy and white, shoulder length jet black hair with body waves, eyes of jade green and stony gray, skin of beautiful olive, and breathtakingly alluring features impossible to ignore. Unlike the others she viewed, he noticed her. He saw her, and she felt surprise widen his eyes revealing a wealth of impossible shades of green and gray. He was gorgeous.  
  
As soon as she glimpsed these, she was pulled away just as fast. Something drew her onward, something fast and hot tugging Wendy's body. She felt herself go at incredible speeds, break barriers, fall until at last, with a gasp and a jerk, the cornflower blue eyed girl awoke. Her hand at once registered the sensation of smooth sand underneath her palm as she flailed around in confusion. Focus, Wendy, focus, she told herself, you're not getting anywhere moving around like a lunatic. She closed her eyes, stilled her body's movements, and evened her breaths.  
  
Once satisfied that she was calm, the chestnut haired girl opened her eyes and sat up. It was a dark night, and the wind blew menacingly. The girl shivered and was glad that her clothes were on. As she stood up, the gown fell to her feet in smooth, graceful waves, and Wendy touched her hair. It appeared relatively untouched but for the few loose strands that managed to escape. After she took stock of herself, the girl then turned to the inevitability of her surroundings. She was on the white, sandy shores of some cool dark ocean. The area seemed vaguely familiar, as though seen in a dream, and she could not dismiss the notion. After all, how on earth does one explain how one was instantly transported from ballroom to beach? And if the times were right (and days or weeks had not passed in between), this must have happened in the space of but a few hours. Something was going on here. And that man...  
  
Wendy shivered again, but not because of the night cold. Her mind's eye reflected on the monster that had come to her in the ballroom. He would have hurt her if he could. Was this his doing now? And what of the other man atop the balcony? Unconsciously, her hand reached to touch the acorn hanging upon a chain around her neck. The beautiful acorn, ever eternal, warmed instantly to her touch.  
  
Where was he? Where was he?  
  
The sharp sound of a snapping twig alerted her to someone's presence and she swiftly whirled around. To her shock and fear, men were silently watching her from the foliage of the trees bordering the beach. They were a rough lot, dark of complexion though Wendy thought perhaps the gloom of the night colored her sight. But their cold, merciless eyes and tense postures were unmistakable to her. And what she might want to deny with all her heart was obliterated by the sight of gleaming knives and oddly curved swords that glinted from ready hands. At once, Wendy knew that all it would take was one well-aimed flick of a wrist and the English girl would be drawing her last breath.  
  
The wind blew against the unlikely girl facing the menacing men. She shivered and pulled back, astonished and afraid. In the blink of an eye, they too drew back, weapons raised ever higher. To her utter shock, she found her own fear mirrored in their eyes. Were they afraid of her?  
  
The cornflower blue eyed girl peered closer at the men. Indeed, they were afraid. She cleared her voice silently, praying that it didn't sound as shaky as she felt inside. "Who... who are you?" she questioned, trying to strike a reasonable note amidst fear, respect, and bravery.  
  
The men shook, as though her voice had awoken them from a stupor, and they backed a step away once more, eyeing her warily. Someone said something but it seemed to be in another language or perhaps his voice was just too low.  
  
"Um..." muttered Wendy, suddenly unsure as how to approach this situation. On the one hand, she was glad they were backing away. On the other, she was not happy they were leaving her. They were her only contact in this strange world after all. "Where am I? Please... tell me?" The men continued retreating in the background, and Wendy did not follow them. Instead, her eyes traced their backwards path. Only when the darkness swallowed the last glint of deadly metal did she sigh and close her eyes.  
  
The fair girl felt drained from the nerve-wracking encounter. A cold fear gripped her heart in a viselike grip, but Wendy wouldn't let the tears fall. A little angrily, she rubbed her eyes roughly. There should be an explanation for all that happened! Things like this simply did not happen! And she would get find the answers! First things, first. Wendy bit her lip and looked at her clothes, then the ocean, then to the forested path the men had taken, and back again to her clothes. Her gown was absolutely wonderful in a party, but also absolutely horrible for trying to explore what seemed to be a mostly uninhabited island. And it seemed that the only path left open to her was the path where the men had disappeared. But what could she do? It wasn't as if she had a spare change of clothes at hand. In vain, Wendy searched for a sharp rock with which to cut her skirt so she could move a little more freely, but her beach seemed to be sharp rock free.  
  
Feeling cross (the battle in heart between breaking out stark mad or coolly going on was tipped in the favor of panicking), Wendy huffed and sat down. She bit her lip, thinking furiously. Exhaustion was overcoming her again. Just a little rest, Wendy thought, five minutes will refresh me and I'll look for a new way again... Wendy curled up against a log that gave her sorry protection from the wind.  
  
Bells. Wendy heard bells. In the realm between sleep and wake, Wendy heard bells. Or was it bell like neighing? Something wonderfully white and glowing seemed to be coming near her and bathing her in its warm, soft light. When Wendy opened her eyes, she saw eyes of deep, deep ocean green flecked with shimmering lights gazing gently at her. It was so beautiful that Wendy's breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat. She held still. "If you are a dream," she whispered softly, "you are by far the most beautiful dream I have ever had." The eyes lowered to hers and Wendy felt a velvet soft muzzle nip her gently on the chin. A breath blew softly across her face and warmed her instantly. Strength returned to Wendy, and she opened her eyes fully. What she saw made her gasp, even as tears sprang to her eyes.  
  
A unicorn stood before her, an impossibly beautiful unicorn of pearl white streaked with shadow and gorgeous eyes. Its silver mane flowed like silk water down its withers and its clean tail surpassed the springing froth of the waves. Delicate legs and hooves that manifested a grace no one could ever have were its limbs. But most beautiful of all was the horn. A twisted shell of purest white sprung forth to point to the heavens. A light twinkled upon its tip and fell down in shimmering luminescence down to its base where what seemed to be a diamond jewel rested as the only fitting base to the wonderful horn.  
  
The girl sat up. "I've long dreamt of you," she whispered, "but I never thought you'd come to me." The unicorn whickered softly in response, in a manner that conveyed understanding. She reached out a hand, a steady hand, and the unicorn met it halfway there. She closed her eyes, reveling in the texture of the unicorn. The unicorn danced a little away, eyes both playful and serious at the same time. Wendy stood up, entranced. "You want me to follow you?" The unicorn whickered once more before slowly moving a way, a trick of the light in the gloom. Wendy followed hurriedly.  
  
How long they moved in this dreamlike state, Wendy didn't know. But she felt safe with the unicorn, safe for the first time in long months. Shadows melted away and Wendy had no concept of fear. She would have followed the unicorn to eternity. But then...  
  
A bolt flew in front of her face and landed upon the bark of a tree where she had been passing by. Jolted harshly from her trance, Wendy jerked back and gasped. Her eyes, wide with fear, flew towards the source of the bolt. A tall man wearing a dirty white cloak that encompassed his form had already reloaded his crossbow. "Hold your ground if you value your life!" he growled.  
  
Wendy stepped back, much too surprised and dismayed. A quick glance to the front revealed that the unicorn was already gone, if it had even been there at all. Biting her lip and her fear back, Wendy faced the man with as much courage and dignity as she could muster. "Who are you?" she demanded, and her voice was a mask of command and bravery. "Identify yourself."  
  
"I'll be asking the questions, missy," glowered the man back. He was heavily muscular despite that he looked to be in his late forties. Like the other men she had seen earlier, his complexion was dark, and he was every bit as rippling with danger as they were if not more. But unlike the others, his eyes held no fear. The crossbow was aimed straight for Wendy's heart, and Wendy's courage nearly failed her. But what she did deduce was enough to give her strength if only for a little while. The man could have killed her before, but he had not. He meant to keep her alive, but for what purpose she did not know.  
  
"Very well," managed Wendy, raising her chin in a show of defiance she did not feel. "But you must tell me who you are and where we are in the bargain."  
  
"Who are ye?" asked the man, and it looked like his heart was in this question. She felt his puzzlement over her, her appearance, her most likely bedraggled apparel, everything about her.  
  
"Wendy Moira Angela Darling," stated Wendy, almost automatically. "Now who are you?"  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her and ignored her question. "Is that one name or two or three or four?" he spat out.  
  
Wendy stiffened. "To you I am Miss Darling," she responded tightly. "Now who are you?"  
  
"My men reported seeing a goddess walking the southern coast of this island, but you're just a girl!" he exclaimed. "A crazy maid, at that." He lowered his crossbow, and allowed his lips to pull away in a fierce grin.  
  
That explained the men's fears, Wendy noted in the back of her mind. But her questions had not yet been answered. "Who are you?" she repeated firmly. "Where are we? I assure you I'm no goddess otherwise I wouldn't be asking you these questions."  
  
The man's prominent brows raised in passing amusement. "I am called Rahul, Avikan-Ayaka of the Basilisk," he responded and then added with that same fierce grin, "I come as destroyer and plunderer, and now you are my hostage."  
  
Wendy's jaw dropped in surprise. "Pardon me," she began, infuriated and frightened but the man leapt, quick as a fish upon water, and twisted her arm behind her back. Wendy hissed in pain, and the man quickly bound her arms behind her with a thin but strong cord.  
  
"My men had some problems kidnapping a goddess, but you are not one, are you my white flower?" he whispered to her, smiling a smile with a lot of teeth.  
  
"Let me go you brute!" she snapped. "I am no goddess nor a white flower! I'm much worse!" That said, she stamped her foot on top of her captor's foot but received a lot of pain for her trouble. He was too deft for her to hit and he laughed richly at her struggles.  
  
"Yes, you are. Some exotic white flower to sell in the markets," he grinned evenly. A hand reached across and smothered her with a dark cloth. Wendy screamed but as soon as the sickly sweet smell hit her nostrils she fainted, annoyingly, once again. Her last thought was, I'm getting sick of getting knocked unconscious...  
  
Wendy awoke feeling very stiff and uncomfortable. To her expectations, she was tied against the mast of a large sailing ship. Dark skinned men were bustling all about, hauling cargo contained within a variety of boxes. Wendy identified some exotic animals, looking drugged, as she had been, dozing off in strong cages. All manners of plants and flowers were also transported in herb boxes, and managed most carefully. There didn't seem to be treasure of any sort, and this puzzled Wendy. After all, one never heard of pirates who went after just plants and animals.  
  
Speak of the devil... Her captor was striding along the deck, giving orders to two people who followed him. His followers were dressed in similar fashion of long flowing robes but theirs were the color of rust brown and the other had one of dark orange. Rahul seemed to be listening intently to the one wearing dark orange who was pointing at a parchment he held out. Wendy was too far away to hear or see what they were saying.  
  
A commotion occurred on deck. Somebody was being brought aboard, and the somebody didn't seem to want to go willingly. Five sailors dressed in loose fitting, baggy trousers and shirts were holding down someone who was screaming fiercely in a language Wendy vaguely realized. The English girl started. Why that was... that was Indian speech! She was sure of it!  
  
True enough, as the men parted and swarmed over the person, she saw red skin, black hair, and Indian clothing covering a young body trying desperately to break free. The men were shouting back. Rahul raised an annoyed glance before saying, "Kill him if he's that much trouble." One of the men pulled out a sharp knife hidden from his boot.  
  
"No!" Wendy screamed. Everybody paused and stared at her, even the Indian. They hadn't realized she had awoken. Rahul looked mildly surprised. Wendy coughed a little, feeling a little abashed for her boldness, but knowing all the same she couldn't let them kill the Indian. "Don't...please don't."  
  
Rahul folded his arms, grinning his fierce grin. "Why should we listen to you?" he asked insolently.  
  
"Please..." Wendy bit her lip. "You shouldn't kill him; it's not right. Please... I'll do anything."  
  
The man raised a brow. "Anything?"  
  
Wendy glared at him despite the fear in her eyes.  
  
The man grinned once more, "What could you possibly do that we would want?"  
  
Surprised and a little relieved there had been no suggestions of a lewd nature, Wendy pondered a little. What did she have? Certainly nothing of value. They already had her captive, didn't they? She was surprised they didn't already take off her clothes and store it in some boxes. The thought chilled her. She pushed it back, and thought of the time back in Captain Hook's ship. She had, as pirate, been the one to tell stories. But, thought Wendy, her gaze roving at the men, they won't like stories. For unlike Captain Hook's pirates, these were men, both in mind and body. They were not going to be amused with childhood fairytales. But she had to try...  
  
The Indian was staring at her in astonishment. He looked pale, almost as if he had seen a ghost. He was young, her age maybe, and he looked bruised and torn up. Her heart went out to him.  
  
"I can clean, cook, sew, sing... dance, a little," said Wendy quietly. It was all she could offer. Oh how she hated Rahul's smile. It was mocking and patronizing.  
  
"We have an excellent cook and I believe the Basilisk needs no cleaning," he said. "But how about this singing and dancing? My men have not seen cheer for a while. Yes, sing and dance. The native's life, and yours, now depends on it. Release her." His men hesitated. A large, hulking figure approached her and sliced cleanly through her ropes with a knife. Wendy stood up a little shakily, brushing her arms roughly to resume circulation. She had been bound tightly.  
  
Everyone was staring at her now, and Wendy felt extremely nervous. But she couldn't fail. The Indian was gazing at her still, and his eyes were filled with hope. Wendy bit her lip, trying to think of a song. A song from the heart.  
  
The chestnut haired girl drew breath, hesitated, before lifting her head and let the words go, words from a song she knew back home.  
  
Think of me,  
  
Think of me fondly,  
  
When we've said goodbye.  
  
Remember me once in a while   
  
Please promise me you'll try.  
When you find that, once again,   
  
You long to take your heart  
  
Back and be free -  
  
If you ever find a moment,  
  
Spare a thought for me...  
We never said our love was evergreen,  
  
Or as unchanging as the sea   
  
But if you can still remember,  
  
Stop and think of me...  
Think of all the things  
  
We've shared and seen -  
  
Don't think about the things  
  
Which might have been...  
Think of me,  
  
Think of me waking, silent and resigned.  
  
Imagine me, trying too hard  
  
To put you from my mind.  
Recall those days,  
  
Look back on all those times,  
  
Think of the things we'll never do -  
  
There will never be a day,   
  
When I won't think of you...  
  
It was difficult to describe the way Wendy's song became her soul. The song was slow at first, charming and modest, but as it progressed, it grew in power. It was sweet but deep, rich and compelling. It spilled from her and washed over the deck. It surrounded those who heard in beauty and suffused them in feelings, her feelings, the feelings that she kept inside her heart.  
  
Wendy's bosom heaved as she finished. A little smile played on her lips even as a tear trickled downwards. Her cornflower blue eyes rested in the night sky, absorbed in memories of a wondrous past long ago, a past she could never forget. I'll always think of you, Peter, she promised. Even when I'm old and sick, lying on a bed some place far away, I'll always think of you.  
  
The silence on deck finally registered in her mind, and she hastily backed away and gazed at them. The men were staring at her, eyes wide, in a stare of undisguised wonder and admiration. Even Rahul wore an expression of intense shock.  
  
He took a step towards her, his hand clenched in tight fists. His eyes held an emotion that frightened her. He whispered, "You're a-"  
  
Something exploded below deck. The ship rocked violently and men knocked to their feet from the force of the blow. Wendy herself landed roughly on her side before rolling to hit the railing of the ship. As the ship dipped and swayed, as if trying to regain balance, it afforded Wendy one earthwards glance and what she saw made her stomach drop. They were floating several hundred feet in the air, in ghostly reminiscence to what the Jolly Roger had done to deliver them home so long ago. But that reminiscence came with a sinking feeling of despair. She couldn't hope to get off now.  
  
Rahul rose, once more in command and confidence. "You ten, go below deck! The others, round the prisoners! Keep your arms out!" he bellowed. The company on deck hastily complied with his dictates as best they could despite the bucking ship. Wendy was roughly gathered and set together next to the Indian prisoner. The boy looked battered, but he stood proud and without assistance. His eyes darted anxiously all over the ship and especially the men set near them. He gripped Wendy's arm firmly so that she might not lose balance again.  
  
Once all the men were engaged, the boy whispered to her clearly but she could not understand his speech. "What?" she asked faintly. "I don't understand you." The boy bit his lip and his eyes darted all over the ship again. Shouts erupted from below deck and the crew swung around to face the portal leading downwards. Rahul watched with eagle eyes, his hand gripping his wicked scimitar tightly. Wendy held her breath.  
  
Someone was floating slowly through the passage. Messy golden curls that simply begged to be touched. Dark brows framing eyes of sea blue green flecked with fairy dust. An ebullient smug smile that mocked all who gazed upon him. Long, graceful limbs and a body of copper bordering on gold encased by the customary vines and leaves. It was he in all his glory, exactly as Wendy last saw him.  
  
A rush of jubilation swept through her, and she breathed, "Peter Pan." It was as if her whisper was the signal for action. The men reached for their knives, but Peter was too fast. His arms, which had hung down his sides, lifted up. To Wendy's surprise, he was carrying two crossbows. With careless grace and ease, he pushed the trigger and the crossbows immediately dispatched two men. By the time the others had recovered and were running towards him with their own weapons, he had withdrawn from their respective sheath his golden rapier and long, silver dagger. With a smirk, he blocked one attack with his rapier, plunged a dagger in one chest, and it drew red blood. With a surge of strength disproportionate to his age and size, he pushed the man off to two of the oncoming attackers forcing them to crash to the deck before Peter floated off to the air. He was a marvel, Wendy knew, always had been, and always would be. Up in the air, his body twisted in fluid elegance, the flying knives seemingly unable to come near him.  
  
Beside Wendy, the Indian boy had also leapt into action. Taking the preoccupation of his guards, he drew one scimitar and slit the throat of one pirate. It might have gone worse for the boy because the other pirate was quick to bring retribution but Wendy was too fast. She rammed her elbow in the man's guts. The blow did not have sufficient force to knock the wind out of the pirate, but it had served its purpose as a distraction. The Indian quickly gutted this one as well. Wendy recovered the fallen pirate's scimitar.  
  
The deck was a maelstrom of chaos. Peter was busily engaged in a fierce play of swordfight between four of the pirates. The only way he was able to keep them from crowding him was his deft footings that lead them to stairway. Meanwhile, the Indian boy and Wendy had worked as a team to take down the guards surrounding them. There was a crowd of about ten left when Wendy noticed something strange. Rahul wasn't in the crowd, as she would have expected him to. She distractedly brushed away a stray strand of hair that fell over her eyes. In the dull gleam of her sword (she had avoided drawing blood, instead blocking or distracting the enemy while the Indian boy swept in for the kill), she saw a reflection of Rahul. He was just emerging from a cabin with an elaborately carved long bow that stood as high as he was tall. A long arrow was already fitted and notched. All he had to do was draw, aim, and fire. Wendy knew, in her terror, that if that hit Peter, he would be die as surely as the sun rose and fell every day.  
  
With a harsh cry, she pushed away from the relative safety of the Indian's boy's vicinity. All Rahul needed was an opportunity, and it would be over. Peter was turning, laughingly taunting his enemies, his feet beginning to float. His back was turned towards them as he led his attackers to a circle. No...! The words died in her mouth as Rahul drew aim. It would be over in a few seconds. Wendy heard her blood roaring in her temples and her heart was thudding madly in her rib cage. She flew up stairs and covered Peter's back. Three things happened simultaneously. Peter had turned around just as Wendy cried out, "NO! PETER!" Her cry was cut short because the arrow had already been released.  
  
Wendy drew breath, expelled it, and smiled. She had accomplished what she was going to do. And even as the pain was unbearable, even as the cruel arrow bit deeply and went through her flesh, she was still happy. Peter was safe; it would be all right. Besides, she thought with some satisfaction as she crumpled to the ground, he recognizes me. I was devastated when he didn't even acknowledge me, but now... I see remembrance in his eyes.  
  
The world slowed down for Peter. The angel, the beautiful angel that sang such a heavenly song, had flown to protect him. But she had been struck down in trying to protect him, and to his utter horror, he realized that the angel was Wendy. She was different, somehow, of longer limbs, a confusingly attractive figure, and a face that would come to haunt his dreams for many, long nights, but her eyes... Her eyes, as she looked at him, was the same. The same shade of blue unique to Wendy alone and they still shone with the same emotion for him. They still shone with love. He caught her as she fell heavily and her eyes, her love, closed.  
  
His consternation felt like a cold fog that descended over the ship and plunged all in darkness. But in a few moments, his grief had turned to blinding anger. And if his grief was cold, his fury was ice of the deepest winter. The Neverland sky turned stormy and menacing. The thick clouds now bunched together and thunder rumbled. Violent winds picked up and threatened to overturn the floating ship altogether. Flashes of lightning lit the dark scene. Firstly, the enchantress of unearthly clothing, chestnut brown hair, and cornflower blue eyes had disappeared along with the Indians. Then, with each flash of lightning, Rahul saw that his men were struck down one by one. He gripped his scimitar tightly in his hand.  
  
"How dare you?" whispered a voice. Lightning spiked in the sky and rain tumbled down in heavy torrents. The Basilisk would fall apart completely in a few more minutes. "This is my home, my land, and you come here... " whispered that same bloodcurdling voice. Though given little volume, it reverberated across the air and sliced cleanly through the din of the storm. "You struck her down."  
  
"You gonna do something about it, boy?" asked Rahul, smiling his fierce smile despite the hopeless situation.  
  
"You are going to wish I had killed you. But you don't deserve death by my hands," continued the voice. Lightning flashed. The golden haired youth was standing right before him. Rahul swung his sword. It was dark. He hit nothing but air. Cold steel was pressed against his neck. Rahul stiffened. "As captain," whispered the youth mockingly, "you deserve to go down with your ship. I'll leave you to Neverland's judgment." Flash of lightning. The boy was standing upon the railing, his sword and dagger sheathed, and his hands placed on his hips. "Tell your men that it was Peter Pan who beat you, Peter Pan who will never let your kind set foot in Neverland, no matter where you come from or who you serve." He floated away, cold fire in his sea blue green eyes.  
  
Lightning hit the ship and it detonated in an explosion of timber. Peter himself was thrown backwards from the force, and a wild laugh tore out of his lips. He boarded a piece of debris and let it carry him away, daring himself to ride the wind currents without flying.  
  
Far below, Wendy opened pain-glazed eyes. In the darkness, Peter had gently floated her and the Indian to the side of the ship where a mass of fairies received them. About twenty carried her and boy each. She did not want to leave Peter, but his expression was so fierce she dared not. She slipped in and out of consciousness. But what she did see was a brilliant eruption and Peter riding a piece of debris safely away. Then her shoulder throbbed fiercely and the blackness ate her vision once more. 


	3. Respite

Disclaimer: Peter Pan and all affiliated characters are not mine. They belong to JM Barrie (and whoever else he says Peter Pan belongs to).  
  
Chapter Three  
Respite  
  
Wendy's shoulder felt like it was on fire. In her dreams, the flames spread all throughout her body, from shoulder, to chest, to head, to foot, until it consumed her completely and there was nothing left of her. She thought she would die. Then, a cool, blessed light ignited on her brow and swelled. It was refreshingly soothing and comforting. It fought the burns, the aches, and the pains. The English girl slept on.  
  
I'm sorry... But there was no choice, none really. I'm sorry.  
  
The English girl stirred, a gentle rush of air kissing her peach lips as she breathed. No words breached her lips, but the crease in her brow told it all. Who...?  
  
But so long as we walk together, I will protect you.  
  
Her fingers curled gently, clutching at the fabric beneath her. Why?  
  
There are certain advantages in my protection. But never forget this: ultimately, you will be giving the greater sacrifice.  
  
The sixteen year old sighed. What?  
  
My powers for your life. Your life for your heart. Your heart for the dreams of all.  
  
Wendy curled herself in a fetal position. When...?  
  
Nothing can stop it now. Had I but the strength to submit... but I had to try.  
  
A tear slipped down Wendy's closed eyes, leaking through sooty lashes and trickling down the sweet curve of her face. Peter... I had not foreseen many things, especially you. Only the son of the gods can save you now. That, in its entirety, is a fool's hope.  
  
This time Wendy did give life to her words. "Peter..." she whispered.  
  
Something very soft pressed to her lips, light as a butterfly's wings, yet unbearably sweet. A feeling of tenderness spread all throughout her body, and warmed her from inside out. I know this feeling... Once before... the sweetest of all touches... Feels like I'm melting... Her sooty lashes fluttered, and the warmth disappeared. Stormy blue eyes opened dazedly, adjusting to the dim lighting of her surroundings. Her body, though weak and strangely feeling disconnected, arched in a sweet tension of muscle. She sighed and a hand touched her lips languorously. The slender girl spoke wonderingly, her voice husky and sensual from sleep, "I felt something touch my lips... Something called to me." Her eyes wandered over her surroundings, somehow already knowing, feeling the presence of the one she called for. "Did you...?"  
  
"N-no!" replied the light voice defensively, "I didn't."  
  
"Oh..." she murmured, still too weary to guess the nature of the reply nor was she able to mask the disappointed tinge in her voice. The London girl instead took stock of her surroundings. She appeared to be in a tent, an Indian tent if her guess what correct. The walls were made of smooth, bare animal skin of some color she could not determine. It was gloomy inside for there was no aperture with which light could shine through, and the outside seemed to be dark as well. The English girl was lying on a small, soft pallet of animal furs, pushed against one of the sloping sides of the tepee. A thick blanket covered her entire body, but sometimes in her sleep it had wound its way down her waist. A small, cold fireplace lay directly in the center. A bowl of water and a washcloth lay beside it, and Wendy knew that it had been used to bathe her forehead. Other than the bed, the fireplace, the water bowl, and washcloth, there was nothing in the small tepee. Except of course, there was Peter Pan in the far corner, still wreathed in shadow.  
  
He stepped closer to her, a hesitance and nervousness in his movements uncharacteristic of the bold Peter Pan of Neverland. The shadows slid away from him like unfurling petals of a dark flower. The golden haired youth approached her cautiously, almost as if she was some wild animal and one wrong move would make her bolt. Or perhaps he was the wild animal, and she would make him bolt. His eyes, still clear despite the gloom, gazed at her in an expression she had never seen him display: that of fear and eagerness. It was almost as if he desperately desired, no, needed to drink in Wendy's appearance, but was also afraid of what he would find. Wendy could not puzzle it out, or perhaps she did not have the state of mind to puzzle it out.  
  
They gazed at one another for a few moments or perhaps a long while, devouring one another with their eyes alone. Every new and old feature and gesture was closely scrutinized, wondered at, and memorized. From toe to the tips of the hair, they took their fill in a pregnant silence.  
  
Ever since the fatal incident aboard the floating ship, Peter had spent an inordinate amount of time in, near, or around the tepee that housed this person, this stranger to him. When she had taken the arrow for him, and looked at him with those fathomless, stormy blue eyes, he had recognized her, known her, instinctively identified her as Wendy, his Wendy, the Wendy of the magical hidden thimble. He would know her anywhere if all he had to go by were her eyes. But since then, her eyes had closed and her appearance so disturbingly and confusingly altered that he had not known what to make of it. Her exit and entrance in his sphere of existence had been both dramatic and bittersweet. In truth, his memories or dreams of Wendy (at that point he was somewhat confused) had been so emotionally charged that, in his weaker moments, he wondered, truly wondered, if she was a dream entirely. But the kiss had been real. The touching of lips, and the eyes shining with raw feelings were real. That he could never deny. And now...  
  
On the one hand, Peter was faintly annoyed that Wendy had indeed partially gone through the entire "growing up" process. On the other, her maturing body elicited a cacophony of emotions within him that were both vague and very pleasing. In quiet, rare moments when fate had conspired that Wendy was alone in the sleeping hut without the presence of the medicine woman and Tink was called away to the Vale, as he gazed upon her face those same emotions welled and intensified within him once more. He felt that he needed to do something, wanted to do something, but he wasn't sure what to do. And then she had called his name...  
  
Peter licked his lips, diffident and unsure. "You should lay down," he said softly, a rare courteous gesture from him, "You haven't gotten well enough." The chestnut haired girl upon the pallet complied obediently, but she fixed her powerful stormy blue eyes upon him in a soulful stare. Those eyes again... It must be Wendy. But he had to make sure.  
  
"You are... Wendy, aren't you?"  
  
A flash of hurt leapt in the cornflower blue eyes, and it distressed the Neverland boy for some reason. "Yes..." she replied slowly, after a long pause, "Has it been so long, Peter Pan, that you had forgotten me?" His last promise to her was conjured in the air between them.  
  
"Oh no!" replied the copper tanned boy, and unlike Wendy his response was instantaneous. "How could I forget you?" he continued, slightly horrified at the very idea.  
  
The London girl made no answer but the smile she gave him was utterly gorgeous. Peter's stomach twisted and flip flopped. He felt giddy at the smile, and he wondered vaguely if perhaps he had caught a sickness as well. He usually didn't feel so weird. But then, Peter never caught a sickness so he dismissed that notion. Abruptly, he snapped out of his trance, and turned his back on her.  
  
Wendy's smile faltered. She queried, "Is something wrong, Peter?"  
  
"Nothing," answered Peter tersely. He shook his head wordlessly for a moment before turning back to her. His sea blue green eyes were troubled. "Everything. Wendy, why-" At that precise moment, a venerable old lady entered the tent. She was an Indian medicine woman, wizened, slow moving, but graceful. Her dark brown eyes and white hair spoke of wisdom gained through years of experience. She was only a little taller than Peter Pan, but she was powerful nonetheless. The healer spoke sharply to Peter, but affection tinged her words. Wendy hazarded that she was commanding Peter to leave. Peter nodded once, anxious for some reason Wendy did not know again, and cast one last, wordless glance at her. Then he turned to leave.  
  
"Peter, wait," called out the English girl, sitting up. "Where are you going?"  
  
Peter paused to acknowledge her words, but did not answer. He passed through the tent flap gracefully, and disappeared in the darkness outside.  
  
"Peter," called the fair, slender girl again, futilely. Abruptly, she felt angry. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting so rudely and oddly? Granted, Peter did not behave within the conforms of what London might consider "polite" but he had at least been considerate to her.  
  
At that point, her sleepiness left her completely, and her fingers tightened on her blanket in anger.  
  
The old lady hummed to her in a soothing manner. She gently pushed Wendy back to lie down on the pallet. Wendy swallowed her rage, and managed a small smile at the helpful woman. The medicine woman smiled benignly back at Wendy before feeling the younger girl's forehead. Her smiling countenance switched to a frown as she noted a dark marking on Wendy's forehead, very much like a bruise. That hadn't been noticed before... But on the whole, Wendy appeared to be well on the way to recovery. Satisfied with what she found, she chatted in her own tongue to Wendy, and Wendy wished she could understand. The medicine woman, though her face was congenial, seemed to be telling something of importance. Wendy shook her head to indicate her ignorance, but the medicine woman merely smiled and patted Wendy's hand. With a final encouraging nod, the medicine woman left.  
  
It was dark outside in Neverland despite that it was still mid afternoon and should be light. But ever since the foreign, floating ship had exploded in a shower of flaming timber, the skies had been cloudy and gray. Sometimes it rained light showers, but most of the time it remained gloomy. It was a depressing atmosphere and had done nothing to help Wendy's recovery. The medicine woman took it as a portent.  
  
The old lady walked until she was some distance away from the tent that housed Wendy. Though her senses were not keen enough to detect Peter's location, her wisdom told her that he had not gone far. He had not gone very far for long since the young lady had been brought to the medicine woman's attention. "You are cruel, Peter Pan, and tempt the gods," spoke the lady in her own language.  
  
As expected, Peter emerged somewhere from the far left, hidden cleverly in the shadows of the foliage. "How am I cruel?' he questioned back to her in Indian tongue, folding his arms. He was only mildly perturbed at the medicine woman's admonition.  
  
"The lady was at death's door. Her fever ravaged her. Her wound would not close. There was evil in the arrow that pierced her flesh, and this evil spread. It should have consumed her," replied the gray haired woman evenly.  
  
"It wouldn't have!" shot back Peter defensively. "She's much too strong for that."  
  
"But it didn't," nodded the Indian healer. "But not through her own strengths. Her will to live and our skills combined could not have revived the dead. Nay, Pan, it is the will of the gods for her to live and suffer other fates. Yet now I see you spurn her. Did you not badly desire for her to live? You spit in the gift of the gods."  
  
"I do not 'spurn' her," retorted the boy crossly. The sea blue green-eyed youth was never good at being lectured at, and he only endured through such tediousness with sulky compliance if it happened to be the fairy monarchs or Wendy. But hesitation danced in his eyes and colored his voice.  
  
The dark skinned medicine woman clucked her tongue at the brash, impatient youth. She was much too familiar with Peter not to know that further reprimands were useless. But she drew breath to give one last warning in an attempt to impress upon the youngster the weight of the girl's recovery. "Have a care to the young girl's welfare, Pan. She almost died. It was a miracle she survived. I doubt she can suffer half of another blow for you and live."  
  
"Wendy... Wendy wouldn't," mumbled Peter, this time taken aback by the medicine woman. She couldn't be serious, could she? She talked of Wendy dying, of Wendy going away to a place where he could never follow.  
  
"It is... Wendy then?" asked the medicine woman, changing the subject. Her wise, brown eyes saw the fear in Peter's face and knew it was enough.  
  
"Yes," nodded the boy, looking unsure once more.  
  
"Ah," murmured the elderly woman. She lifted her head to look at the gray clouds. "I remember her in the great bonfire night so long ago, when you rescued Princess Tiger Lily from Hook. I was preoccupied with Wendy's brothers, but I saw her for a moment, and I heard her voice from afar. She was like your fairies, wreathed in twilight and spirit."  
  
Peter nodded once more, muttering shamefully words that were completely uncharacteristic of Peter Pan, "She was... the one who saved your grandson. She sang for the pirates in exchange that your grandson's life be spared."  
  
The medicine woman's face creased into a smile, "Did she now? All the gladder I am to have helped her out."  
  
"How soon will she be well?"  
  
The healer mock glared at Peter, "Without needless distress ailing her, then seven days. If you continue to upset her so, even longer."  
  
"That long?" asked Peter, dismayed. "The fairies wanted to see us right away."  
  
The medicine woman internally raised a brow at the bit of news. Usually, the woodland folk had little to do with Indians. Their chief contact to the outside world was Peter Pan, and Peter rarely if ever revealed information of his revels with the fairies. To hear that the fairies had business with someone other than Peter Pan, a girl from the outside at that, was startling indeed. Yes, her feelings were turning out correct. The troubles in Neverland had merely begun, and somewhere, somehow this Wendy of Peter's had something to do with it.  
  
Peter did not come to Wendy anymore after their first real meeting, and this distressed Wendy in many levels. She was both angry and upset, wondering what she had done exactly that caused the cheeky youth to avoid her like the plague. She had not seen hide nor hair of him, though she often felt his presence lingering in the background. The only good thing about Peter's disappearance was that the medicine woman was now able to lavish her full medical regime upon Wendy, and Wendy grew healthy for it. Day by day her old strength returned to her, and she felt well enough to sit up, stand, walk, and feed herself. She walked a little around her tepee, and discovered, to her surprise, that she was standing relatively isolated from the Indian camp. Furthermore, she was kept to herself. She saw no other Indian, even Tiger Lily or the Indian boy she had tried to save upon the Basilisk, except the medicine woman. It made her feel a little edgy, and she wondered if perhaps this was because of her sickness or some other reason.  
  
One such day she felt particularly irritable. She was kept confined at day, and her repose at night gave her no rest. Dreams plagued her, dreams she was never able to recall, but unsettling dreams nonetheless. The medicine woman must have seen her puffy eyes. Wendy tried laughing it off and gestured futilely. "There's no reason to worry," she said, though it was far too much to hope the woman would understand her, "It's just that I've been having bad dreams, that's all. In fact, all this... feels like a dream. It feels like I'm dreaming even though my eyes are wide open." The woman nodded quietly, and left her alone. The next morning, she presented Wendy with two, small, dream catcher earrings carved ornately from some white, animal bone. The making was extremely detailed and fine. A small feather hung from each of the elaborate circles as a finishing touch. Wendy felt a rush of gratitude and warmth to the woman who had been tirelessly taking care of her, and she expressed these feelings by hugging the elder woman impulsively. The lady seemed to understand, and she seemed every bit as happy as Wendy.  
  
With proper rest this time (Wendy was inclined to believe her dream catcher earrings truly worked), Wendy's head cleared and she was allowed to think. However, thinking inevitably lead to headaches, dream catcher or no. Wendy could not puzzle out her situation no matter how hard she though of it. Last thing she knew, she was playing a song in a London ballroom when an evil man had tried attacking her. Next, she was zipping through worlds, crash landed on a Neverland beach, and was near assaulted by what seemed to be new pirates. Then a unicorn had come to her, disappeared, and a pirate captain had abducted Wendy herself. Soon after, she had tried saving an Indian boy from inevitable death, had to sing a song for it (in eerie reminiscence of her story telling to Hook's pirates), and then taken part in a hostile take over. Lastly, she had taken an arrow meant for Peter. That unhappy incident led her to where she was now, recovering from an illness she was not aware of and in a place that bred questions but gave no answers. She felt like screaming.  
  
On the fourth or fifth day of this confinement, Wendy had had enough. Though the weather was still gloomy, the English girl prevailed upon the medicine woman, with much strain on both their part from the language handicap, to let her go to a stream or pool. To Wendy's delight, she was led to a hot spring. Once the medicine woman had gone, Wendy looked around to check that no one was near. She bit her lip, hesitating. "If you're out there, Peter Pan," she warned, "you had better not be looking." Silence answered her. Wendy waited a few more moments before quickly shedding her soiled gown (the shoulder was ripped from the arrow's entry and the Indians' ministrations anyway) and dunking inside the spring. The waters felt deliciously warm, and the chestnut haired girl felt all the aches and tension of her muscles dissolve. She leaned against a smooth rock, resting with her eyes closed.  
  
That was how Peter found her some time later. He had been out hunting with some of the Indian braves just to take his mind off of what to do with the young girl recovering in the sick tent. Upon returning with a successful kill, he was waylaid with a message from Tiger Lily. Her father, the great chief, needed to talk to Peter. This did not puzzle Peter too much. Peter had a feeling that the chief wanted to know more about the strange people coming in floating ships to hunt down Neverland's inhabitants, man and beast alike. By the time that had been done, it was already several hours into the evening. He had known almost immediately that Wendy was not in her tent, and this led him in a short but frenzied flight to find the medicine woman. The old lady merely shrugged, smiled, and pointed in the direction of the hot springs. "She wanted a bath, Peter," grinned the old lady. "It was good for her anyway."  
  
Peter felt very cross. "What if she was too sick to take a bath?" he asked the old lady none too gently. "What if it was dangerous by the hot springs?"  
  
She merely pressed a bundle into his surprised hands and asked coyly, "What if someone found her there all by herself?" There was something very teasing about her question that curdled Peter's blood. Without further ado, he had flown at top speed to where the hot springs were. For some reason, he felt extremely angry and offended, as if someone had done great injustice to him. So upset was he that he had no room for what he might find at the hot springs. His only concern was to get Wendy safely and soundly back to the sick hut.  
  
"Wendy!" he yelled the minute he burst upon the hot springs. "Wendy, are you-" Peter's words died in his throat, and his eyes widened. His jaw dropped. Wendy lay fast asleep, curled in the shallows of the comfortable hot spring. Her head was pillowed by her arm and kept above the water level. Most of her body was submerged in the water and in the gathering dark it was impossible to see much. But it was possible to see shapely contours and outlines that sent a strange sensation curling within Peter's stomach. Furthermore, her dark chestnut hair was spread in all its glossy glory around the girl, and it contrasted sharply with her pale skin. The Indian medicine woman was right. She looked more to be a fairy, a trick of the light, rather than a human girl. Peter's mouth felt dry, and he automatically clicked it shut. A blush burned bright in his cheeks for reasons he again knew not, and he felt a vague inkling that he should look away. Ah well. Peter was not one to listen to little inner voices of society and the painting presented before his eyes was too delicious a temptation not to succumb to.  
  
Peter felt that he could have gazed at her forever, exploring her new body with his highly curious and eager eyes. But all good things must come to an end, and Wendy began to stir. The girl shakily raised her head, blearily looking around in confusion. The first thing she registered was the soothing water lapping her naked body. The next thing she registered was Peter Pan floating above the pool. The third thing she registered wa- Wait, a minute. Peter???  
  
Wendy shrieked and dunked her body further underwater though it was poor protection. She gave Peter a lethal glare and said in the most scandalized voice, "Peter Pan, what in God's name are you doing here?!" The youth started at her shriek, and he floated nearer to her, looking curious. But was that a blush on his cheeks?  
  
"I was worried about you," replied Peter and there was a definite hint of embarrassment in his voice. "So I came looking."  
  
"But here... now?!" she whispered furiously. "Peter Pan, don't you dare come any closer! Go away!"  
  
"What?" asked Peter crossly. "What's the matter with you?"  
  
Wendy's eyes widened in exasperation. "What's the matter with me??? What's the matter with you! You're not supposed to spy on girls when they bathe, Peter Pan!" she yelled.  
  
"I was not spying!" cried Peter indignantly. "I just came looking...and you were like that! Besides, didn't you want to talk to me?"  
  
"I didn't want to talk to you like this! Peter, I'm not dressed!" screamed Wendy, thoroughly exasperated and almost in despair. This was highly scandalous. If anyone were to know... The air between the two of them practically sizzled with exasperation and resentment.  
  
Unexpectedly, something wet plopped on Peter's nose. The young boy blinked, looked up, and saw that rain had begun to fall. He looked positively surprised at the drop of rain. Wendy began to laugh, and the tension dissolved. The London girl laughed softly in the air despite the falling rain, drawing her arms and knees around herself. Peter turned towards her, grinning as well, and he soon joined her in her laughter. At that moment, when their laughter joined in the air, it felt like old times again, exactly like old times. It made old feelings rise within Wendy and she smiled her joy at Peter. She thought he could feel it too.  
  
"Very well, Peter," sighed Wendy, smiling wryly. "Turn around and don't look. I shall get out of the bathing spring, and we can talk again once I'm properly dressed."  
  
Smiling cheekily at her, Peter turned around before abruptly swinging back. "Oh yeah," he said. "The medicine woman wanted me to give you this. " He offered the bundle in his hand, and Wendy realized it was an Indian dress. She smiled, both at the medicine woman's thoughtfulness and at Peter.  
  
"Drop it by the shore, please," requested Wendy.  
  
Peter shrugged, floating closer and pressing it to her hand. "Why?" he asked carelessly, but the minute he locked eyes with her, the minute his hand touched hers, the tension went back in the air. But it was a different tension this time, a tension of a different nature. Wendy felt a shiver run through her body, and she licked her lips, confused and a bit frightened. Peter's eyes held hers captive, and she felt herself drowning in a world of sparkling sea blue green. She felt very hot and vulnerable. Peter seemed to be leaning closer...  
  
Thunder rumbled overhead, and Wendy snapped away from her spell. She gasped, cheeks flaming. "Don't look at me like that," she breathed, looking away.  
  
Peter blinked, surprised himself. He backed away from her, every bit as frightened as she was at the intensity a moment before. "I didn't look at you like anything," he responded defensively. "G-Go dress then!" With those words, he sped away to some place hidden by the trees. Wendy watched him go, troubled. Her heart was beating rapidly within her breast, and her thoughts ran in frenzied circles in her mind. What was she doing? Why had she felt that... Wendy abandoned the trail of thought, afraid to see what lay at the end. Unbidden, a hysterical giggle threatened to rise up from her throat. The situation was getting completely out of hand.  
  
Hurriedly, she rushed out of the bathing stream and ducked behind a protective screen of foliage. As rapidly as she could, Wendy scrubbed herself with the soft cloth that came with the Indian dress, and then donned the dress itself. The material was soft deerskin, and it molded intimately to her body in a way none of her London gowns ever had. It was a strange sensation, and she felt both comfortable and uncomfortable at once. The close fitting, slitted skirt fell to her knees and a vine belt twined around Wendy's tiny waist. A fringe decoration accentuated her bust, and the dress itself ended a few inches beyond that. The fringe went off shoulder in a manner Wendy recognized in some of her ball gowns. Without the usual undergarments that went along with London gowns, the young girl felt very naked. Her only consolation was that Indian dresses made no room for the dreaded corset. She gathered the discarded garments, and stepped out hesitantly. "Peter?" she called.  
  
The youth sulkily came into view. It appeared that he worked himself into a worse temper, and he asked sulkily, "Are you ready now?"  
  
Wendy shrugged, her hair sliding sensuously to her back. She had to remember to ask for a comb later. She fixed her eyes on Peter, and once again found him staring at her in a most discomfiting manner. His sea blue green eyes had brightened like the sun, and it held her captive in its beams. Wendy licked her lips, fighting to keep from staring back at him. "I guess so," she murmured.  
  
Unexpectedly, he grinned at her. He smiled at her the exact same way he had smiled when he had first taken her to Neverland. That smile full of mischief and promise, a smile she was never able to resist. "Come with me, Wendy," he urged softly, coming to hover closer and closer to her. "Come away with me." He was so close. His soft, charmingly boyish, golden features filled up her vision, and his eyes insisted pleadingly with her. His breath touched her face, feeling like warm velvet. "Come with me. " The bundle Wendy held twitched then was dropped to the floor. Peter dipped his hand in a hidden pouch by his waist and withdrew it. He spread the glittering fairy dust all over Wendy who closed her eyes the minute the enchanted powder touched her soft skin.  
  
"I'm not sure," murmured Wendy, "if I remember how to do this right. I can't seem to think happy...."  
  
"Look at me, Wendy," commanded the copper tanned youth. Wendy seemed hesitant, and he cupped her face in his hand. Her stormy blue eyes flew open in shock, and he held them locked with his own gaze. "Forget it. Leave it all behind you. Think of me."  
  
Wendy felt like she was drowning. All she could hear was Peter's voice sliding silkily in the air; all she could see were Peter's intense sea blue green eyes drawing her in; all she could feel was his warmth drenching her. It was as if she had fallen under a spell, and couldn't seem to pull out of it. Even his last statement failed to rouse any response from her.  
  
Peter smiled softly at her. He took her white hands, placed one on his shoulder, and the other he held with his hand exactly like that night such a long time ago. He stepped up to her, skin-to-skin, and whispered in her ear, "Dance with me." He started slowly, gently, never breaking his intense rapport with the pliant young girl in his arms. And, just as slowly, Wendy responded to him. Both began to hear music only they could hear, a rich symphony of sound and emotion that reverberated within them both.  
  
The couple began to float in the air, twirling with supernatural grace. The floating steam over the hot springs, the otherworldly coloring of the Neverland foliage, and the very image of the two themselves served to paint a scene of unsurpassed unorthodox beauty. And neither Peter nor Wendy noticed. The two were completely wrapped with each other.  
  
It was only when Wendy's foot dipped low and drew warm water from the hot springs that she realized their position. She gasped, wrapping her arms around Peter instantly. "Peter!" she whispered.  
  
Peter laughed, his own arms around her waist just to keep her secure. "Relax," he breathed into her. "I have you." Wendy stilled her nervous movements, the intimacy of their embrace or his words not lost upon her. He slowly rose in the air, keeping Wendy next to him.  
  
"Peter..."  
  
"Let's not talk here. Let's talk, if we have to, some other place. I have an idea," he grinned cheekily. "Can you manage?"  
  
Wendy flushed, knowing he meant if she was comfortable with flying. She nodded, "I think so." Very slowly, she let go of Peter's neck, and, very slowly, Peter disengaged his arms from her waist. He stayed very close just in case, but Wendy seemed able to hover. He grinned once again, very smug that his plan had worked. He took her hand and led her into the night sky. The two rose to vast heights until they were at level with the thick clouds. Wendy was apprehensive at first, but she quickly understood why Peter had brought her the minute they had broken through the stormy clouds. From above those very clouds, the world was a snowy wonderland. Puffy clouds, wispy clouds, thick clouds of snow white stretched from one horizon to the next, and the large, beautiful, moon shone down this magical world in all her silver glory. Innumerable stars of all colors, intensities, and sizes dotted the firmament.  
  
The stormy blue-eyed girl had forgotten what it was to fly. She had forgotten the sensation of the wind racing past your body as you cut through the air in dizzying speeds. It was an intoxicating feeling, and the ability to fly quickly rushed back to the chestnut haired girl. For about half an hour, she twisted and swooped in the air, laughing delightedly, and Peter played with her. They played a sort of hide and seek, and tag game. The clouds were a wonderful place to play in. No hiding place was too safe and at any minute the other could find the other simply by bursting through the thick clouds. Peter won each time, of course, but Wendy was a fair sport and she wasn't easy to beat at all.  
  
Giddy with joy and drunk with laughter, the girl flopped back on a sinfully comfortable cloud. Her stormy blue eyes reflected the firmament above, and her fair skin was ivory in the moonlight. Her silky hair lay in wild abandon all over, and she felt peace, contentment, security, and joy. Feelings she thought would never come together again.  
  
Peter threw himself beside her a minute later, still laughing from their wild antics. His eyes were sparkling humor, mischief, and joy. Wendy couldn't help but respond to the smile on his face. Peter boldly laid an arm across Wendy's waist and he pulled himself closer to her. The girl's eyes widened at the unexpected actions, and she made move to speak. However, he silenced her words with a finger to her lips, and his arm tightened around her. His eyes gazed desperately in her face, searching for something. The stormy blue-eyed girl thought she saw something glimmer in his eyes, and it made her chest tighten.  
  
The boy shook his head, switching moods abruptly as he began it. He sat up cross-legged, peering intently at her. "I guess we really do need to talk, don't we?" he asked, frowning.  
  
Wendy blinked a few times, dazed by the fast changes in his behavior. Nonetheless, she rose to a sitting position, her legs folding lady like underneath her. She nodded solemnly, hair sliding luxuriously around her bare shoulder, "Yes, we must."  
  
She thought for a moment. "It's been... three years since we last parted ways," Wendy began, her eyes focusing on the distant stars. "It's been so long. I... grew up. Some things changed." She shrugged, gesturing vaguely at herself. "I went to a ... gathering at night in the house of some great... hmm... manager, or lord, of a great company my father works in. I was feeling strange. Well, I had been feeling strange for... about a year or half a year now. It feels as if someone's watching me, or something's searching for me. It frightens me. At times, it goes away. Other times, it grows so strong it's almost as if an invisible person is standing so close bearing down upon me." A shiver wracked her fragile frame, and Peter crowded close to her. "Anyway, in this party the feeling intensified. It felt so close, closer than it's ever been before. The... lord's son was dancing with me, and he asked me to play a song for him." Wendy was far too absorbed in her narration and in her thoughtful minute pauses in which she sought to explain the situation in terms Peter would understand to notice his dark scowl at the mention of the dancing and song playing. "After I finished playing the song, the room was empty," continued Wendy. She hesitated, before turning her bewildered and half frightened eyes on him. "Everybody was gone. The furniture was there; the food was still there. It's just that... nobody was there. No servants, no guests. No one. It was very dark as well, and the only light came from a balcony. When I went... a man was there. A dreadful man. He looked... so ...He was beyond evil. He whispered such things to me... terrible things. It frightens me to think of it now. I couldn't think. I didn't think I could run. All I could feel was such fear and revulsion. It paralyzed me. I didn't think I could fight. I think... I think he would have taken me." Unconsciously, a hand crept up to her acorn necklace. She closed her eyes as if to shut out the bad memories. The slender girl drew breath and plunged on, "Then I remember your ... thimble. And I started singing. It was all I could think of to keep from breaking down. The more I sang, the stronger I felt, and the angrier he was. It frightened me still, but I kept on singing. When I reached the end of my song, it was as if an explosion had occurred. Light enveloped me. I think I was dreaming for a while... when I came to, I was at the beach. Pirates... those dark pirates aboard the Basilisk. I met them, but they left me alone. Again, I think I was dreaming or had fainted. I was walking in the forest following something when that Pirate captain abducted me... Rahul. He gave me a drug and when I came to, I was on the Basilisk. I think you know what happened afterwards." Both remained silent after her lengthy narration.  
  
Wendy watched Peter's reaction anxiously, trying to gauge out what he thought. But the boy's face remained childishly confused. "I don't understand any of it," announced the copper tanned youth not so long after Wendy ended her story. "Could the man be a ghost? I did not know you could cross worlds and come to Neverland without my help or the fairies' help."  
  
"Neither did I," assented Wendy. "I don't even know whether the ghost stranger brought me here or whether that light was something else entirely."  
  
"He didn't," stated the sea blue green-eyed youth, and Wendy was surprised by the firmness in his statement. At her questioning gaze, he reiterated, "It is clear to me that this man wished to do you harm. If the light at the end of your song brought you here to Neverland, then it brought you to safety. He would not have brought you here to safety."  
  
The chestnut haired girl smiled, amused at the simplistic logic yet powerful truth of his words.  
  
"Furthermore," continued the boy, chewing on his lower lip, "he may have been the reason why you've been feeling so jumpy. Ghosts are known to haunt people. Maybe he was haunting you?"  
  
"But why?" wondered the English girl. "Why not before? There is no reason for him to..."  
  
"Maybe there is," replied Peter solemnly, "but we just don't know yet."  
  
Wendy drew her knees against herself, feeling pensive. "So then... tell me what happened to you after I ... left?" she prodded.  
  
"Neverland is the same," answered Peter cockily, grinning. "Adventures are perhaps not so grand since Captain Hook was swallowed by the crocodile, but it's still great fun." His eyes fairly danced with the same old sparkle, tempting Wendy once more to partake in his bold undertakings.  
  
Wendy smiled gently at the tease. "Where is Tinkerbell?" she asked softly. "I haven't seen her since that night... on the Basilisk."  
  
Peter's smile faded at the mention, and he seemed unsure once more. "She's been gone awhile. Come to think of it, more and more of the fairies are being called back to the Fairy Vales for a while now. Tink was one of the last to leave. She seemed upset for some reason. That night on the Basilisk was once in a while that I had seen the fairies come out en masse."  
  
"What did happen with the Basilisk, Peter? Are they new pirates? I haven't seen the Jolly Roger...I didn't know ships in Neverland could fly."  
  
"They are pirates," answered Peter slowly, as if thinking of it for the first time. "But they're not like the pirates from the Jolly Roger. I talked to the pirates on Jolly Roger, and they swore they never saw pirates like these. They're one of the first to come in floating ships. I don't know how they float. The fairies promised me that there weren't other fairies aboard. No one was really sure what to make of them. I came close to a lot, but they always shot at me. They stayed far away from me, so I didn't care much. Then they started going down to the islands. They took plants, animals, of all kinds. No one really minded at first. But then they started taking people... Jolly Roger Pirates, Indian captives.... I've heard the mermaids say that they've tried catching mermaids and fairies, but fairies and mermaids are much too quick for them still. This time, they captured Raven Wing, the medicine woman's grandson. The people of Neverland made a rescue attempt. But... we hadn't expected..." Peter shrugged, and Wendy partly knew what he meant. These events were entirely unheard of in Neverland.  
  
Peter touched her knee to bring her attention back to him. "The Indian chief has been talking to me," he said earnestly. "He wants to know about these newcomers. The mermaids talk to me as well. They say they are afraid. The Jolly Roger Pirates talk amongst themselves and the Indians. They're waiting for my decision. And the fairies... The fairies want me to go to the Fairy Court, as soon as you are able."  
  
Wendy blinked in surprise. Was her presence so important to the fairies? In her entire experience with them, they had their whole contact exclusively with Peter. But it made sense. These were not just strange new occurrences. They were downright terrifying, and Wendy hadn't the faintest inkling of what was happening to Neverland or her. If anyone knew the truth of these matters, then it was the fairies. She nodded. "All right then," she agreed. "Tomorrow in the morning. Let us go to the fairies."  
  
Peter grinned smugly, his eyes leaping in her countenance. He already thought it a fine adventure. 


End file.
